


congress

by psylocke



Series: atonement [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, M/M, Post-Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:04:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psylocke/pseuds/psylocke
Summary: after nearly getting himself killed protecting sylvain, he and felix make the most of an abandoned camp. as before, spoilers are fairly mild.





	congress

**Author's Note:**

> what comes after purple prose? ah, yes. ultraviolet. this could be considered chapter 2.5 of _repentance_, but it's not required reading. this is just a smutty interlude to that story. tl;dr: felix got poisoned, is recovering, and is stubborn about it not hurting.

felix can’t remember a time the war camp was this deserted. 

after duscur, he remembers the panic as troops mobilized and rumours spread faster than wildfire. as they took fhirdiad, their station outside of the capital was still manned by clerks, monks, and merchants alike. the backbone of the military might, the unseen forces that allow the infrastructure to prosper. but even they are gone now. 

the entire contingent — the knights of seiros, the remnants of the alliance, the might of faerghus — gone to fight the most important battle in the modern history of fodlan. and here he is, bedridden and under the watchful eye of sylvain. 

once they both stopped feeling sorry for themselves long enough to get to their feet, sylvain returned him to the cot in the infirmary and went to see if he could find anyone, but only stragglers remained. indeed, the army had marched that morning. and knowing that enbarr would be taken by their return, the infrastructure went with it. a city that size going to shambles could cripple fodlan for decades to come — this mission is as much humanitarian as it is of conquest. 

“we can catch up tomorrow,” sylvain promised him with a kiss to the forehead before leaving once more to scrounge for breakfast. “if you’re feeling up to it. the two of us can make better time than an entire army, right?” 

as usual, his boundless optimism does more harm than good, as felix knows it’s an empty promise. but it’s as good a goal as any, impossible as it may be. healing by morning sounds like the work of the goddess — but as it stands, she still owes him one. 

the afternoon drags on viciously. the poison still trying to carve a path through his system strikes at the most inopportune times, a violent reminder of his latest mistake. glenn always used to tell him — never fight a battle you’d be ashamed to bear scars from. advice he’s taken to heart in the years since, but never has a fight confused him quite like this. the thought of dying steps away from the door to a tavern, saving sylvain, cut down by a literal child choosing to fight dirty? 

_regret_ may not be the correct word, but foolish certainly might be. 

on sylvain’s tenth round of abandoning him and looking for something to do, felix tries to walk to the entrance of the tent. it’s all of twenty steps away, but each cuts deeper than the last. his body works overtime to fight the infection. using sylvain’s lance for support, he reaches the opening, squinting in the afternoon sun. 

he spots sylvain fifty feet away, waving excitedly at him. “okay! ten thousand more of those and you’ll be good to go tomorrow!” he calls, voice lost on the wind. 

felix tosses the lance upon the ground and makes the walk back unsupported, teeth gritted the whole trek. by the time he reaches the bed, he’s worn out. after struggling to make himself comfortable, he falls into a fitful sleep. tossing and turning the least of his worries. 

sometime after dark, sylvain stumbles into the tent and wakes him just by existing. he carries two bowls of old soup, left covered by whoever had been in the mess tent last. he helps felix sit up and takes on the job of breaking apart some of the larger, more feisty potatoes. felix draws the line at being spoon-fed. 

they eat, and talk, and sylvain leaves again. felix tries to sleep during this absence, too, but it never quite takes. this time, they are not apart for very long. sylvain clambors back in, dragging another cot behind him, his pillow stuffed under his arm. “hold on, one more trip,” he promises with a devilish smile and goes scampering back out into the darkness. five minutes later, he’s back again with a plush blanket and another pillow. 

once the supplies have been lined up, sylvain shuts the flap and zips it up. “no fire tonight,” he hums, “nobody left in camp, most of them went to town — tried to warn them, but.” as he speaks, he’s fiddling with the cot and dragging it flush against felix’s. “so i thought it would be best if we stayed close together. never know if bandits are going to attack, right?” 

“right,” he answers, not entirely sure he understands what’s being agreed to — but he made a promise to stop pushing sylvain away. even when he’s acting like an oaf. “are you — do we need to be _that_ close?” 

sylvain looks over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his face. “you told me you loved me four days ago. i think it’ll be okay if your arm touches mine while we sleep.” 

“i never agreed to that.” 

wincing, sylvain throws his pillow onto his cot, already in the process of being set up. “may i?” 

there’s barely a pause. “fine.” 

the smile returns and even felix has to admit, it’s nicer than it was before. the pillows help, the blankets he stuffs under his back to relieve some stress on his spine. sylvain keeps a pillow between them as they both lay there, staring at the roof of the tent, trying to make out the stars beyond the thin yellow cloth. 

neither speaks — neither has to — for what feels like an eternity. felix drifts off several times but pain brings him back each attempt, a little surlier than he was before. he thinks he hears sylvain snore, but sylvain also hears himself snore and promptly wakes back up, once more falling into the strange, comfortable silence of the world around them. 

“it’s been so long since i heard owls calling at night,” felix finally says. the words perk sylvain up, propping up on an elbow and rolling to his side. he pulls the divider pillow closer to himself, cuddling it with the other arm. “i thought they’d all abandoned garreg mach. good to know they aren’t entirely gone.” 

exhaling, sylvain tilts his head back to stretch out his back. “ever since the war started, the monastery’s been so loud. all the time, even in the middle of the night. everybody’s always working.” 

closing his eyes, felix listens to the sound of his own heartbeat — trying to determine if the rhythm is different or if he’s just imagining things. “it’s isolating. even when i don’t want to be alone, i feel it. that place is soulless.” 

“with rhea gone—” 

his laugh is low and curt, shaking his head in response. “even with her there. that woman has eyes that can penetrate the depths of my soul. and not once did she respond to it kindly.” 

jaw clenching, worrying his lip between his teeth, sylvain makes the decision to set aside the division pillow. catching it between his knees, he inches closer — over the small gap between the cots, shifting the weight of felix’s as he lowers himself onto it. without asking, he puts a finger at the center of felix’s chest, waiting for a response. when none comes, he traces a small circle against the shirt. “you know you’re not alone, right?” he asked. 

slowly, felix opens his eyes and flicks them in sylvain’s direction, actively not commenting on the uninvited touch. “being alone and feeling alone are two different battles. one is rational, the other isn’t.” 

the circle turns into a line, cutting down the unseen ridges of his sternum. “i know,” he answers, stopping just shy of felix’s stomach, instead tracing down one of his ribs to hit the cot. “but i can help with both, if you’ll let me. i didn’t—” he pauses, reconsidering his words. “i never realized how unhappy you are at the monastery. if i had, i would’ve… i dunno.” 

“it’s not your job to be my keeper,” is the argument, one that is promptly shot down. 

“but i _want_ it to be.” his voice is incredulous but quiet all at once. “i want to hear when you’re upset. i want to know what you’re feeling. that’s — that’s what people do, you know. when they care about each other.” 

it’s funny how hard it is to say such a simple word they’ve already spoken to one another, but they both dance around the subject expertly. “i’m not very good at those things,” felix confides — as if it were a secret to either of them. 

sylvain smiles, once again moving closer. felix turns to his head to watch, but again makes no protest when the flat palm of sylvain’s hand curls gently at his hip. the fingers spread and some touch the bare skin beneath his shirt — hot touch on ice flesh. “i know, but it’s better than bottling it up. healthier.” 

“i’ll try,” he says, both unsure of whether or not the promise will be kept. “your fingers are warm.” 

the smile only grows wider. “you’re freezing.” 

a beat of silence before felix exhales, resting his hand on the back of sylvain’s. his fingers curl, struggling to apply grip, but as he begins to move, sylvain allows himself to be pulled. the warm hand runs up the chill of his stomach, brushing the slightest wisp of thin hairs, to the left side of his chest. sylvain feels the heartbeat, remaining silent, both of them waiting for the gap between them to close. 

it comes in unison as felix turns his head and sylvain leans forward, mouths meeting in a kiss that is painful and sloppy at best, neither bent at the appropriate angle. it’s up to sylvain to oblige, tipping further forward, but he doesn’t want to rest his weight upon felix. in a matter of movements, they’re both on the one cot: sylvain’s knees digging into the thin mat, one of felix’s legs between them, while his hands grip the metallic frame. their faces hover inches away from one another, still in stunned silence. 

this time, when sylvain lowers his head, they meet more comfortably. felix, he realizes quickly, is new at this. so he obliges when the tongue is too forceful, and the nip at his lower lip stings longer than it should. he’s the first to break from this more intense attempt, trailing more quick pecks along felix’s jaw, to the start of his neck. when he hears felix’s moan beneath him, he allows himself a moment to linger. “tell me if it’s too much.” 

there’s yet another moan, no protest, so the trail continues down felix’s throat. sylvain can feel the tension as felix presses his head back into the pillow to give him more access, can sense how much the pressure hurts. he sets one hand delicately upon felix’s chest. “it’s okay,” he continues. “relax. please.” 

the muscles loosen and go limp once more and sylvain reaches felix’s collarbone, breath hot against the thin cloth he’s yet to change out of. even through the shirt he feels how cold felix runs, the sensation of touch less impactful through the fabric than it is on bare skin — a mix of hot and cold, sharp and sudden and intoxicating. 

without thinking, he pulls back. no longer are felix’s eyes empty — now they’re hungry, unfamiliar but exciting. sylvain lingers a moment, hovering high above his friend. then he pulls off his shirt and watches the slight widening of those eyes, not expecting felix to reach over and run a finger against his furry stomach. “i don’t want to do anything that hurts you more,” sylvain says, not shying away from the ghost-touch, voice against porcelain that quickly shatters in his touch. 

“take off my shirt,” felix instructs. between the two of them, they find the right angle to carefully pull the tunic off, leaving just the bandages on his arm from their last fight. sylvain discards the top on the ground unceremoniously, cupping the back of felix’s neck and abdomen to slowly lower him back down again, eyes locked the entire trip. 

their lips meet next, felix’s hands straying up sylvain’s arms, feeling his shoulders, his neck, cupping his cheeks. each touch feels like a new frostbite, but he savours the sensation like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever felt. as they pull back from the kiss, felix stops to catch his breath. “it doesn’t hurt when you’re here. you— you’re so hot—” 

“i know.” 

“—that it makes me forget.” 

sylvain grins and ends the thought with another kiss. luckily for him, felix is a quick study. “then i won’t let go,” he promises, once more peppering a trail down to the sternum with quick, tepid kisses. his eyes flick up to try and catch felix’s gaze at the strange angle, leveraging his weight into his knees so that his hands can gingerly grasp felix’s waist, slowly running down and up the torso to keep him stimulated. his lips, meanwhile, find another target — his breath is warm against felix’s nipple, pert from the cold that runs through his veins. his tongue, then, runs a circle around the supple beige flesh. 

the reaction is abrupt and unsurprising. sylvain feels it press abruptly against his stomach, and catches the tail end of felix’s horrified, barely composed, reaction. the touch of pink on his cheeks is unfamiliar — but it stirs his stomach with butterflies. “don’t be embarrassed,” he purrs. rather than pull away, he closes his lips around the nipple and sucks on it. smaller than what he’s used to — but infinitely more enjoyable. as he pulls back, his voice remains low and gravelly, not wanting to be overheard by a non-existent audience. “that’s what i was _hoping_ you’d do.” 

felix exhales, still flushed, lips parted into a scowl. in retaliation, he blindly reaches to do the same to sylvain — only his fingers pinch much harder, with much more intent. 

“hey, ow—” sylvain gasps, body wrenching violently to pull away, but that only makes it worse. his laugh is contagious, back arching convex, burying his face into felix’s shoulder to try and stifle some of the noise. “i’m trying to seduce you, stop trying to hurt me. it’s natural. i get people hard all the time. it’s what i do.” 

all he hears is a muttered reply, the words indistinct. so he presses another kiss to felix’s neck, eliciting a much more pleasant sound as felix melts into a moan. “please—” 

grinning, sylvain pulls back. “more?” 

“_stop talking._” he thinks felix is teasing him, but it’s difficult to tell. hands settle on sylvain’s waist, cool to the touch, slowly applying enough pressure to lure him down closer. he’s careful not to apply any weight to felix’s torso, but lets their stomachs touch and gives his core a brief reprieve from holding himself up. once he’s down, felix’s arms rise to curl around sylvain’s waist, holding and hugging him. 

where their skin meets is harmonic dissonance, the clash of fire and ice overtaking them both. the end result is not quite lukewarm, a sensation in-between that tingles and burns all the same. neither needs to speak, focusing entirely on the touch. sylvain’s lips graze felix’s jaw while he feels the heartbeat beneath him growing more and more rapid. his own flutters gracelessly in his chest, fit to burst. 

he knows this is as good a place to stop as any — more than enough stimulation for them both. felix needs rest, not distraction. but sylvain can’t help himself. with their bodies so close, he feels how hard felix is beneath him, and he knows he isn’t far behind. body operating independently of his mind, he ruts his hips down against felix’s. the first it met with hitched breath, so he does it again. a grunt next, but no opposition. by the third, felix is holding a moan between his teeth, and sylvain feels mollified. it isn’t much, but he thinks this is his best way to help. 

“does it hurt?” he asks, bracing himself for another demand to stop talking. felix only shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, trying to avoid the heat of sylvain’s gaze meeting his. “are you sure?” 

“a little,” he confesses. “less than before. please— don’t stop.” 

with a devilish smirk and all the permission he needs, sylvain keeps going. slow, rhythmic, intentional thrusts down, friction burning where they meet. before long he forgets himself — forgets who he’s with, what they’re doing together. his hand runs up felix’s thigh, and in return he feels a hand on his ass, but it’s there only a moment before sheepishly pulling back to decency. 

the display continues for a while yet, sylvain’s mind in overdrive thinking of how he can progress from this to something else — _if_ he should, rather. this is so far beyond his usual methods that the intended results feel unachievable, as desirable as they are. to his surprise, it’s felix who makes the first move. 

still unwilling to look at him, felix’s hands slip from sylvain’s hips, hanging loosely from his stomach. they remain there a long time, long enough to lose count, before they latch on to the front of sylvain’s trousers, steadily undoing the clasp. the rutting stops, making it easier to unclasp, sylvain looking down to watch him work. “are you sure?” he asks. 

“yes.” 

he squints, tongue running over his lips. “look at me, please. i need to be sure this is what you want.” 

there is some resistance, finally, as felix mulls it over in his mind. as his head slowly rights itself, the colour in his cheeks is scarlet and he worries his bottom lip. but after a moment his eyes open, finding sylvain there waiting patiently for him. “yes,” he repeats, more exposed by the eye contact and the question than the quickly shifting wardrobe. “you’ve bragged so much about it. let’s hope it lives up to the propaganda.” 

and he hears felix laugh — a sound, sylvain realizes, he prefers to the moans. 

laughing in return, he pulls up to his knees, hovering high over felix, finishing the work of sliding the trousers down to his hips, catching just above his thighs. “one sec,” he says, sloppily climbing off the cot — nearly tripping in the process — to pull them off in the dark. the lantern light doesn’t quite reach, cloaking sylvain in a silhouette before his return. naked as the day he was born, arms akimbo, the grin on his face simultaneously boastful and in desperate need of approval. the look on his face reads _well?_, but instead he speaks into existence something felix was hoping to avoid. “okay. your turn.” 

felix only grunts in return, turning his head away once more. his hand waves dismissively. permission, again, even if it’s getting increasingly difficult to read the body language. 

sylvain takes great pride in this offer, climbing back onto the cot and over the body of his best friend. he tempers the moment with a long kiss at the crook of his neck, feeling felix’s body practically melt beneath him. his hands tug on the trousers, pulling them around the curve of his ass, then back further. at the knees he needs to pull himself back, once again off the cot to strip him down fully. only the bandage remains, but sylvain has seen that shoulder before. it’s the rest that he’s taking in for the first time. 

illuminated by dull torchlight, felix still captivates him. it’s a scenario he’s thought about many times, one that he was certain would never come to fruition. the details in his mind are so distinct that he’s almost surprised at how different the fantasy is to the reality. he takes slow steps forward, climbing onto the cot with ease. one palm rests to the right of felix’s head, the other to the left, suspending himself mere inches from the other’s face. “have you—” he begins, wary of the sentiment. “is this your first—?” 

with a low exhale, felix forces his eyes open, but doesn’t fully turn to meet the gaze on his cheekbones. “once before, but — i didn’t enjoy it.” 

instead of a joke, sylvain lowers himself down, kissing at the corner of felix’s mouth to encourage him to engage. “maybe you were with the wrong person,” he suggests, just before felix turns his way. the kiss is slow, steadied, interrupted only by felix’s surprise when he feels sylvain’s hand wrap loosely around his cock. through the kiss he feels the gasp, and he only smiles into the tail-end of it. “relax,” he breathes, going right back for more. his hand begins to gingerly stroke — like the rest of felix, it feels cool to the touch. “i’m an expert.” 

felix obliges, but only partially — the tension is still there in the way he digs his head into the pillow, how his limbs remain perfectly still and straight. but sylvain can see that he’s trying, with small breaths and coming close to eye contact. sylvain quickly ups the ante once more, grip loosening to accommodate for the addition of his own cock, both pressed together and sending a burning pleasure up felix’s length. the strokes continue then, a little more sporadic as he tries to find the ideal position for them both. 

the kissing continues as well, felix grateful for the opportunity to do anything but lie there perfectly still. his whole life has been an exercise in containing himself — and this is no exception. he’s holding back, and he’s sure sylvain knows it. never mind the pain in his arms and legs, all that goes away when sylvain touches him, but he’s still afraid of reaching out and making sure any of this is real. when it’s over, he’s certain that sylvain’s touch will be little more than that of a ghost. 

rather than continue trying to wrangle two bulls, sylvain makes the executive decision to tighten his grip and roll his hips instead. he slides against felix’s cock, the sensitive underside pulsing with each movement. felix obliges, slowly bringing his hips forward each time sylvain pulls his back. the push and pull feels better, felix realizes, perhaps because he’s actually contributing to the effort. 

“that’s the spirit,” sylvain teases. “you know, i didn’t expect you to be so — _big._” there’s something about how he says it that feels disingenuous. not that it’s a lie, but it feels like a line. one he uses on strangers, a growl in his throat as he tries to butter them up. sylvain is bigger than him, at least an inch longer, so felix struggles with how to take the compliment. “and you got me so hard, fuck, i—” 

“what are you doing?” 

“uh, dirty talk?” the voice changes — there it is. he can pick it out even whispered in his ear, the shift in tone and lilt when he’s putting on the moves with some stranger in town. the tone absent from all of their discussions until now. sylvain is nervous. just as nervous as he is. “why, are you not into it?” 

felix responds with a kiss, then a pause, then a quick shake of the head. “i’m not one of those skirts you chase,” he says. “you don’t need to play the part anymore.” 

it’s a moment before sylvain understands, his features softening into a small, secret smile. felix can feel the relief. “i love you,” he answers — just like himself, none of the caricature and all of the warmth. when the dirty talk returns, this time it feels like it’s just for him, not some stock line used on everybody who came before. “when i’m done, you’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow.” 

“and miss the battle of enbarr?” felix says right back, the curled beginnings of a smile tugging at his cheek. “that feels like a challenge.” 

one last kiss before the mood changes — enabled by felix, encouraged by sylvain, the tender care and comfort shifts to something more urgent. a hushed buzz splits between their bodies as he pulls away, spark on their lips. “you’re on, fraldarius.” 

sylvain lets go and pulls back, giving felix a brief respite from the coursing, unfamiliar pleasure of proximity. it doesn’t last very long, just enough to pull back and find a new position upon the cot. their weight shifts, and felix pulls one knee up. there’s a slight sting in the bend, but much of the lingering pain dissipates quickly. hand pressed to the newly raised knee, sylvain spreads both legs, now set between them. his hands run up felix’s thighs, remaining at their curve as he lowers himself, hovering over felix’s cock. 

he realizes a moment too late what’s about to happen. the lock of their eyes is mischievous, sylvain well aware he has the upper hand as felix struggles to regain it. he feels warm breath against the leaking tip, sylvain’s tongue quickly swirling around the head to clean it up. 

until now, felix has restrained himself as best he could. “_sylvain,_” he moans, louder than anticipated, but sylvain doesn’t stop to listen. his tongue once more lines up at the underside of the shaft, dragging down as his lips form around felix. he takes it far quicker than felix expects, half of his length greedily swallowed. and before he can get used to that, sylvain is already pulling back up and pressing back down — a little deeper this time. 

his fingers curl in sylvain’s long hair, mostly on instinct now. he grits his teeth to avoid another reckless outburst, but even that is a struggle for him. each bob sylvain makes drives him a little closer to letting go. before long, felix feels face brushing against his pelvis, the little wisps of hair nuzzled against as sylvain reaches the base. he moans, sending a reverberation up felix’s length and sending a chill down his spine. 

driven by more impulsive desire, felix’s hips raise again, just as they did when he was in sylvain’s grip. there is a muffled gag as reaction, but rather than pull back, sylvain — ever prideful — simply burrows back down, to prove that he can. so felix plays back, with three quick thrusts, the last so hard that sylvain pulls back with a sputter, catching his breath. but as he lifts his eyes to grin felix’s way, they glimmer with excitement. “more,” he asks, practically salivating as he goes back down. 

felix obliges. both hands down tangled in sylvain’s hair, they help to guide him up and down. rather than keeping him in place at the root, he dives deep before coming back up — where felix’s firm grip pushes him back down before he can breach the surface and come back for air. once the maneuvers miss, and sylvain comes off with a slick pop, but he wastes no time. his movements are urgent but fluid — clearly, this is the battlefield where all of his dancer’s grace has gone. 

sylvain’s lips run along the vein upon the underside of the shaft, this time looking for a new target. as he reaches the base, he sinks further down, eyes disappearing over the horizon. felix feels a tickle upon untouched skin, then a confused sensation as sylvain’s tongue runs beneath his balls, catching one loosely between his lips. 

in turn, his hand wraps tightly around the slick shaft he’s now chosen to ignore, squeezing and stroking it. “legs spread,” he says, pressing a kiss to felix’s inner thigh. he obliges without question, ignoring the sting as his knees bend and slowly slide apart along the cot. and once it’s in view, sylvain turns to the next stop on his journey. 

felix inhales sharply as the tongue presses to his hole. his toes curl and fingers grip on to sylvain for dear life. 

“careful,” sylvain coos, but the gap is minute — his tongue returns, hands clasped to either side of his ass, pressing against his entrance without a care in the world. felix dissolves into unintelligible noise, all strained through gnashed teeth, desperate without wanting to ask. sylvain obliges the unspoken request, gentle and deliberate and attentive. 

as he trails off, his nose and lips once more graze felix’s thigh, breath hot on his skin. he’s no longer looking at felix — no longer worried that he’s going to be told away, enjoying this rare dominance he has over the uptight swordsman. he knows this is a difficult kind of power to give up, particularly for someone always so desperately in control. he doesn’t want to jinx it by seeing regret, not wanting to turn his own enjoyment into guilt. 

so he carries on as he always does. despite being a stranger to it, he feels he knows every inch of felix’s body. every healed-over scar, every curve of sinew and muscle. he nips down against the sensitive flesh to mark it as his own, in a place so intimate he knows nobody but the pair of them will ever see his trace. he brings felix as close as he can to the brink, never quite breaking skin but bruising it nonetheless, until it is as raw as the throat humming unsung moans above. 

just as he has never seen felix like this, felix has never seen this side of sylvain. only the cocky build-up, the playboy facade he wears like a grease mask. he’s never considered sylvain in the aftermath, the sweat glistening down his toned stomach or the devilish look in his eye. the intensity he carries is intoxicating, bringing felix as close as he can to begging for more without speaking it aloud. his pride is being broken down tonight, in exchange for pleasure he’s never felt before, but there’s still too much to beg. he hopes sylvain knows that he’s trying. 

pulling away from the red mark left on felix’s leg, sylvain looks up the long body, admiring the view in warm silence. he smiles when felix does, fingers tracing circles upon the other’s stomach. he drags the digits down, circling around his still slick cock, past his thigh, to where his tongue was just a minute before. he wants to see the reaction as his middle finger presses against the entrance felix so kindly offered to him, rubbing around the tight ring, not quite breaching the surface. 

just as he’s about to pull back, felix’s hand grabs his wrist to hold him there. he feels a clench, then a release. felix shifts his feet slightly, breathing sharp, shallow breaths. “i’ve never—” 

“i’m not surprised,” sylvain interjects, smiling. he massages the spot, watching felix bite down on his lip to keep from making a sound. “it’s okay, i don’t mind. i wasn’t sure if you wanted to—” 

the interruptions continue. “stop talking,” he pleads. “for the love of god, stop talking.” 

sylvain smiles, eyes cast down as he finally presses his finger into felix. the entire body beneath him recoils, seizing up and nearly lifting off the bed as both feet press deep into the cot. but he doesn’t pull out — in fact, he goes deeper. felix is offering himself up on a platter, back lifted as his upper body presses into the folds of the blankets and pillow beneath, finally releasing a free moan that sounds like music to his ears. 

nails digging into the sheets, felix slowly lets himself lower back down. the process is guided by two patient hands: one pressed flat on his pelvis, thumb hooked around his shaft. the other inside him, barely to the second knuckle. his body tenses on instinct, but he forces himself to relax before sylvain can scold him again. 

“that’s it,” he says instead. “nice and easy. it’ll feel better if you ease into it. breathe.” and he leans back in with another attempt at dirty talk, kissing felix’s cheek as he starts to pull the finger out. “you’re so tight. promise me you’ll loosen up. i don’t want to hurt you.” felix can only nod, realizing he’s been holding in his breath for too long. he exhales, near panting. “good boy, i—” he laughs, nervous himself now. “sorry. old habits. i’ll stop talking now.” 

to felix’s surprise, he already misses the sound of his voice. 

one finger, once eased in, becomes two — and he knows, he’s _seen_, that sylvain is thicker than this, which does nothing to ease the flutter in his stomach. it’s only when he gives in to the feeling, letting his mind slip away, that felix is able to relax. sylvain, kissing his neck. sylvain, cradling his body. sylvain, caring for every last inch of his being. if anything, anyone, can make felix feel safe in this moment, it’s him. he can, he _will_ give sylvain the world in return. just as soon as he can move without pain. 

he loses his thoughts so deeply he doesn’t realize sylvain has pulled out his digits until he begins to reshuffle once more. the blanket beneath felix is pulled and bunched up to elevate his hips, legs hoisted to rest on sylvain’s thighs. their eyes meet, and the smile is blinding. one hand drops firmly to his side, holding up sylvains weight as the other is met with some spit, palm massaging it onto the head of his cock, glistening in the low light. 

“you okay?” he asks. felix nods, tense but eager at once. “okay. good. just relax. breathe.” another smile, this one turning into a long, tender kiss that makes felix’s head spin. sylvain doesn’t break it, even after he feels the tip slip inside his — admittedly underprepared — hole. 

he moans into the kiss, breath mingling. felix’s hands grip tightly to sylvain’s cheeks, refusing to let him pull away, even as he stills to accommodate. “syl—” he begins, sharply inhaling before the kiss restarts. “—vain.” 

“yeah?” he asks, own voice tense as he presses his hips further down. intentionally or not, felix’s body resists every inch of the way. he pulls back, working that groove first — the first few inches to get him accustomed to the girth. 

“fuck.” the voice is near silent, a breath escaping felix’s lungs in a moment of pure ecstacy. each time sylvain’s hips fall down he wants them to go deeper, but he knows that hesitance is for his sake. he lifts his knees, legs wrapping limp around sylvain’s hips, guiding him on but they’ve otherwise turned to jelly, no strength left to hold him up. 

sylvain’s smile is unfading, bowing his head to press a kiss to felix’s chest, working in a rhythm that is desperate to unfurl. it gets easier, even if it takes some time. the path before him opens up, slowly but surely, and each little groan from felix is just encouragement to keep it up. “you’re so tight,” he repeats, this time speaking directly into felix’s ear. “feels so good.” 

his own moans are louder than felix’s, a little higher in pitch. he has fewer qualms about being overheard — he, after all, knows that nobody is around to hear them. and he’s gotten enough noise complaints to know none of this is unexpected behaviour from him. sylvain worries more about felix’s comfort, trying to keep his movements steady and even to prevent any surprises. the tightness squeezes against his shaft, making each stroke a dangerous game — they’ve barely gotten started, but the promise drives him wild. 

when he reaches as far as he can go, pelvis pressed against felix’s thighs, dug deep inside him, sylvain holds his position. he waits, counting to six, before pulling back and coming back in. felix hisses, squeezing his eyes shut, but there’s a smirk on his face as he does. so sylvain does it again. and again. and again. 

the cot creaks beneath him as he finds his rhythm anew. it quickly drowns out the soft moans felix can no longer contain, using those as a reference for what works and what doesn’t. truthfully, sylvain doesn’t consider himself the most attentive lover — but these are special circumstances. when he finds it, he keeps pace well — slower rhythm but harder thrusts seem to hit the spot best, that particular combination causing felix to kick him firmly in the spine as confirmation to keep going. 

he holds their bodies together as best they can. even inside the tent, the winter chill finds them, but the heat of their bodies combined still drips sweat down their chests and sylvain’s shining back. even felix has warmed up — that sharp sensation as they touch now gone, replaced by a warmth that matches his own. 

the kissing continues with sylvain giving, felix biting on the pillow and too busy to share. he realizes all too late he’s focused entirely upon the same spot upon felix’s neck, another mark left, this one more visible. but he kisses it once more, aware that is a problem for future sylvain. 

even the tightness fades — still palpable, with each rock of his hips, but felix’s body adapts to the change. rather than too much, the fit is better. he can slide in and out without resistance, and hopefully without pain. judging by the babbling contentedness, he assumes as much. thighs clap hard against felix’s, losing track of time as it begins to be measured in tempo. once they both become accustomed to the other’s body, he feels he can go faster, even come down a little harder. it’s rougher than intended, but felix enjoys it all the more. 

no words are exchange until routine gives way to a new sensation. sylvain’s back arches and his breaks away from felix’s skin to let out a whiny groan. “fuck, gonna come,” he says as warning, and felix isn’t sure how to respond to the statement. he simply watches, bewildered, as the rhythm changes once more. sylvain becomes more erratic in his movements, and he compensates by bringing them together once more in a kiss. 

the pace quickens, his posture sharp and convexed in a bid to shift the angle. he raises slightly, pulling felix up with him, so his thrusts are closer to vertical and horizontal. felix feels a bead of sweat drip onto his chest, sylvain’s hair disheveled and hanging down over him, tongue caught between his teeth, fucking like they’re running out of time. 

and, he quickly realizes, they are. 

“_fuck,_” is the only warning he gets this time — as sylvain thrusts down into him, he begins to empty inside of him. it’s intentional, welcome, but unexpected. the first two thrusts fill him, the third he manages to pull out for. thick, white ropes of come shoot down felix’s hip and up his curved stomach as sylvain ruts the last droplets out against felix, where his thigh meets his crotch. 

then they both collapse. felix, full and still and shocked. sylvain, empty and hot and in love. he falls onto felix with no regard for the pain he’s in, simply driven by an attempt to mash their mouths together. the kisses they’ve shared have run the gamut from cautious, and tender, and hungry. this was a step beyond even that — a step toward desperation. sloppy and exaggerated and intense. felix barely reacts to it, but encourages him to linger. 

they remain that way long past either of them can keep track of the time. the silent of the night around them back once more as moans are swallowed greedily by the other’s mouth, and the creaks of the cot are fewer and further between. the spill on felix’s stomach begins to cool off, and with it begins to swirl with the sweat upon sylvain’s stomach hairs. when he pulls away, there’s a moment where they’re stuck together. but a quick tug separates them — first at the waist, then the chest, and finally, reluctantly, at the mouth. 

“you still have to finish,” sylvain whispers, the first words shared between them after the unique bonding session — a whole new dynamic between them now, one neither could have suspected. 

he continues to pull away, leaving an emptiness in felix that he can’t be certain of where the physical separation ends and the metaphorical begins, as he doesn’t go very far. just enough to return to where they began, his lips finding the tip of felix’s desperate, leaking cock and going down. 

this time he knows what to expect, and the focus has already shifted from a new sensation to one with more urgency. sylvain does not play around, does not pop up to check in on him, he simply keeps going. even without words, he seems to know felix’s body better than he does — when felix feels the stir of his stomach tightening, sylvain moves with more intensity. the closer he gets, the more he tries to make it happen. 

felix inhales sharp through his nostrils — cock bobbing as it grows closer and closer to release. sylvain finally pulls off, but is movement is fluid and readied. as soon as his mouth isn’t taking care of it, his hand is. he keeps himself low, tongue teasing the underside and he palms felix wit a curve of his wrist. he can even sense the climax moments before it happens — giving the cock a squeeze and wrapping his lips around the tip just before felix tips him off with a hoarsely whispered “_ahh — fuck_.” 

it feels like nothing he’s done before — like every climax before this was simply preamble to the symphony. his hips jerk up unpredictably as every last aftershock is taken, sylvain not spilling a drop. he bobs down one final time, certain that he’s finished, before popping off — a slick trail of undeterminable origin still connecting his lips with felix, wiping it away with the back of his hand. 

he fall back upon his haunches, watching felix from that distance, the sudden severe reality crashing down upon him. “how — how are you feeling?” 

“fine,” is the answer, breathless — the way felix sounds after a fight. he pushes himself back, and tries to sit up but finds his elbows useless and his hands somehow worse. sylvain pulls forward to help, kissing the top of his head as he does. “dizzy. but fine.” 

“i don’t think we’re going to make it to enbarr tomorrow,” he admits, something of a smile on his face. he lowers back down, still holding felix up with an arm around his shoulder. 

felix sets a hand on sylvain’s thigh, absently tracing a circle into it. “we are,” he argues, dropping the subject there. no use arguing a point they’ll never agree on. “it’s late. we should try and get some sleep. could you—?” 

even without the question being asked, sylvain nods and springs into action. he hops off the cot, searching for anything — and ultimately returning with the tunic felix had been wearing during their fight in down. one sleeve dried with old blood, but the rest in working condition. at least good enough to clean up the mess they’ve made. 

though it happens in silence, it isn’t without its charms. felix’s fingers brush along sylvain’s arms as he passes, and squeeze his hand as he begins to sit down. after three days without speaking, he’s grateful for these little moments. at least for now, at least tonight, he’s managed to break down felix’s impenetrable walls. 

he sets the tunic beneath felix as the final step, folded upon itself and scrunched up to the side of the cot that he’s decided — without asking — the two of them will share. sylvain lies back on his side, curled up next to felix who remains his usual stony self at the contact, but seems to relax when sylvain pulls him in close. 

sylvain rests his head against felix’s shoulder, drifting off without a word. the feel of the heartbeat against him a steady rhythm he can use to remind him of where he is — not alone. for the first time in far too long, he doesn’t feel alone. 

“sylvain?” comes the quiet voice, breaking the silent. 

he isn’t sure how much time passes between then and now, only that it stirs him from a state of semi-consciousness into a groggy, serene _awake_. “yeah, babe?” 

felix turns slightly, in toward sylvain, burying his face into the warmth of his chest. “remind me before we leave tomorrow,” he says, pausing as he takes a sleepy breath, “we need to burn this shirt.”


End file.
